Clockwork Nights
by RunningThroughTheStars
Summary: Some stars that fall from the sky aren't stars, but something ten times as fantastic. 11th Doctor and Clara Oswald Not Whouffle. Clara sees a star falling from the sky on a perfectly normal night, but that's not a star, and nor is this a normal night.


Authors note:

Hello there! This is my first story, and the first chapter!

Based on The Impossible girl and the Doctor. Such an interesting story line! (I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO OR THE CHARACTERS OR THE STORY LINES OR STEVEN MOFFAT)

I hope you like it!

Please review, I would love to hear your opinions! Have a great day!

Not Whouflle, so don't freak out non shippers, and if you are a shipper of this, they just imagine :P

Woooo!

* * *

Rain falls down the window like stars fall from the sky, In an ephemeral of ebbing wonder, and some stars in the sky that night, were not stars.

It was unusually dark for an April night, time must have flown by since arriving to look after the kids, maybe it's nine or ten. I couldn't complain about the darkness though, the stars were mesmerizing, one in particular, a soft, almost blue light glowed, spinning through the air, A shooting star I believe. My eyes ran up to the squint clock on the wall, one in the morning.

_There's no way, not one. That's impossible. Last time I looked it was seven in the evening, I made hot chocolate at nine, still warm. There is no way it is 1 am._

I peeked back up to the clock, still one. I continued to gawk for around about a minute, the clock for one, was rapidly shrinking, and two, the hands were swiftly moving backwards, anti clockwise.

_I'm going crazy. Fresh air, yes, fresh air will help. I'm just tired..._

consoling me, the heavy rain bouncing off the ground, me and everything in the surroundings. I felt so free. I skip down the path, lying down on the damp grass.

_I want to do this forever. Be free, that is. _

I pullout a piece of paper from my shirt pocket, and the pencil from behind my ear.

_**List of things I will do before I die**_

_**• Learn to dance (properly)**_

**_ •Make the best soufflé_**

**_ •Travel the world, to far off lands, to have an adventure_**

The world began to spin, a labyrinthine of dust flies around my feet, the list flying from my hands, yet this was all a figment of my wild imagination, as was the eloquent, unusual sound and the spiralling blue box which was promptly falling from the sky. A blue light glowed, like the shooting star.

The paper scuttles through the air like a mouse. I begin to run after it, my feet carrying me, carrying me as fast as I can, arms outstretched, wind bouncing my hair to the sky, faster and faster. My fingers tickle it, almost in my grasp, then crash.

* * *

A sudden halt, feet skidding against the ground like a child about to dash across a busy road. The blue light, headlights to a rabbit. Bright, vivid, captivating. I could run, I could hide, but I can't. A blue box, A blue box just fell from the sky. Surely not. It must be a car, a car almost hit me. I could have died. I could be lying here dead because of curiosity. It did kill the cat they say.

But no, it's not a car, nor a lorry or bus. Its not a helicopter or plane, it's not a street light and it's certainly not a spaceship. It's a police box. A police box just fell out the sky.

The door swings open, the wind flies in, and a man steps out. He wears a bow tie, crimson, the colour our cheeks glow in joy, the colour our face flurries to in anger, the colour of the blood that falls from us, the colour we feel in love, the colour we fear, the colour we hide from, the colour that springs so many emotions, yet this man is so vague. The colour has so many meanings, he has so little. A peculiar figure, trousers too short, and a childlike smile. intriguing.

His hand opens, inside lies a tiny square, a piece of paper folded as small as you could possibly imagine.

'Were you looking for this?' He smirked like a little boy.

He flicked it towards me, floating through the air, though the wind blew uncontrollably. It landed in my hand as daintily as a ballet dancer.

I slowly unfolded it, origami slowly parting in my hands, a series of squares, triangles and stars. My list. I read it over again.

_**List of things I will do before I die**_

_**• Learn to dance (properly)**_

**_•Make the best soufflé_**

**_•Travel the world, to far off lands, to have an adventure_**

**_Come with me, I could show you the world, the seas, the skies and the mountains, the stars, the moon and the galaxy. I could show you your wildest dreams, your greatest nightmares, I could show you everything your imagination could show you and more. I could show you adventure, hope, joy. I could teach you life and death, love and loss. I can show you what it means to live, in two minutes or two hundreds hours. It could be scary, it could get tough, you might get tired, weak, nervous and sad but listen when I tell you this, you will have the greatest time of your entire life. Come with me. ~ The Doctor_**

He smirked once more, his mouth the embodiment of childlike mischief, needing excitement. His eyes, black holes yearning to be explored, old, worn out, tired and tattered, an old man living in a young mans body, craving more, craving life, craving adventure, craving joy. He is so intriguing, a man who fell from the sky.

Who is he? He calls himself 'The Doctor', Is he a doctor? What's his name?

So much to learn, to find out, to explore. It seems dangerous, going with a man you just met, to anywhere, but I feel like I have known him. Like I have known him for a very long time.

'Lets go then, Mr Bowtie'


End file.
